


False Spring

by Moontyger



Series: Somebody Else's Story [5]
Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-11
Updated: 2006-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/pseuds/Moontyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been almost five years. Five long years, since Mello had left Wammy House and Near behind. Five years, and Near had thought of him every day, missed him every one of the 1,795 days it had been, even though he never spoke of it to anyone and never would, unless it were to tell Mello himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	False Spring

It had been almost five years. Five long years, since Mello had left Wammy House and Near behind. Five years, and Near had thought of him every day, missed him every one of the 1,795 days it had been, even though he never spoke of it to anyone and never would, unless it were to tell Mello himself.

Near watched his model train, spoke matter-of-factly about the ways in which Mello would likely contact SPK, but all he really saw were his memories. Mello, crying on his shoulder. His startled expression when Near told him how he felt. The bleak look in his eyes when he said he was still leaving. Near had never expected it to be this long before he saw him again. Somehow, he had thought Mello would be unable to forget him, too, and would come looking for him. He knew he could have found him if he had wanted to. Maybe he had been mistaken and, in the end, all Mello felt for him was hatred and resentment. He hoped not, but it was possible.

When he finally saw him again, he didn't know how to react. He kept his back to him, so no one could see his vulnerability. Even with four more years of practice, Near didn't think he could look Mello in the eyes and not show his feelings. Not now, not when he came bursting in here with Hal at gunpoint. Why did he always have to be so dramatic, so excessive? Did he really think he had to do that to see Near, or did he just like causing a fuss? All he had to do was ask; all he'd _ever_ had to do was ask. Mello was the one person he always found it hard to say no to.

How was it that Mello affected him so much more than everyone else? Usually, he didn't have many feelings to hide. He was ice: his heart frozen in his chest, his body merely an obedient burden, only his mind functioning in the cold - a perfect machine. But Mello was a furnace, a blowtorch, and he melted the ice without even trying. He just walked into the room and Near started feeling, hurting, _wanting_. It was dangerous, painful, crazy, but somehow he didn't want it to stop. Mello made him be human, with all the weaknesses that implied. He shouldn't want that, knew better than to want that, yet he ached for it.

It hurt, to see him willing to shoot. Was his understanding of Near really so flawed? It hurt even more to give up the picture he had kept all these years. He hadn't wanted to give it up, but it was safer, and he had hoped it would be worth it to see Mello again. Couldn't Mello see why he had kept it, what it meant? Didn't he know that there was no one else for Near, could never be anyone else? Would he really just walk out of here, with nothing more than this?

He couldn't allow it. After all this time, when this might be his only chance... he glanced over his shoulder, met Mello's dark, angry eyes. He watched understanding enter them and anger slowly bleed away as he read the naked need in Near's expression. Mello nodded, ever so slightly, and he turned his face away again, unwilling to watch him even pretend to leave.

Near felt eyes on him, watching him, as he stood. “I'm going to go talk with him privately,” he said, hating that it was even necessary. Working with others had never bothered him before, but now they felt like an inconvenience: mere obstacles in his way, wanting explanations he didn't want to have to give.

“Are you sure that's safe? He nearly shot you. Shouldn't you at least -”

“No.” Near hid his impatience and annoyance with their concern. He should be glad they cared about him, worried about him, but right now, there was only one thing on his mind. He twirled a lock of hair around his finger, tighter and tighter, seeing the tip turning purple out of the corner of his eye without really noticing it. “No cameras, no wires. He'd know. And I trust him.” And he didn't want them watching.

He walked out, not even acknowledging any protests or urges towards his characteristic caution. What he had said was merely the truth: even after so long apart, he trusted Mello. He didn't think he would really have shot him. Perhaps he would have died still thinking that, had Hal not spoken up, but he thought the chances of that were slight. And if he had, well, perhaps better that than to know Mello truly wanted him dead. He had meant it when he told him to shoot him if he wanted to.

It didn't surprise Near that Mello had been able to figure out which of the bedrooms there was his, even though he had made no effort to personalize it. Near stood in the doorway, watching Mello sprawled on his bed, looking perfectly at ease, eating a chocolate bar just as he always had. For a moment, it was almost like nothing had changed. He walked into the room and closed the door.

  
Mello watched Near, wondering if he had really read his expression correctly. Had he wanted to talk privately, or was he here to throw him out? When he shut the door behind him, though, he knew he had been right. The emotions in Near's eyes when he looked at him! It was nothing he had expected. It had been four years; what had happened the day before he left was in the past and he had assumed it would remain there, something they never talked about. He had never expected Near to still feel anything for him. He had never expected to care one way or the other and was surprised to find that he did.

Near came and sat beside him on the bed, feet still on the floor, looking away. He was trembling slightly, little enough that Mello only noticed because he was so close, nearly touching, and playing with his hair nervously. Was he afraid of him? Or of what he felt for him?

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, crumpling the empty chocolate wrapper into a tight silver ball. Mello tried to make himself be gentle, although it was hard for him when it came to Near. “Hey,” he said softly, and ran a hand down his back. Near shivered, but turned to look at him, although he lowered his gaze almost immediately. Could he not stand to look at him for long now because of his scars? Mello had to wonder, although he had never thought Near would be so shallow. But then he had never thought he had emotions, much less a sex drive, until that day that seemed so long ago, the one when his world fell apart. “Didn't you want to talk to me?”

“Yes.” Mello watched Near's hands as one twined itself in his silver hair and the other traced patterns on the sheets. He wondered if he were wishing for some of his toys, something to give him something to do with his hands, someplace to look. At last he looked up, and the pain in his eyes nearly took Mello's breath away. Who knew Near could feel so much? Somewhere underneath that robotic exterior there really was a heart. “It's been a long time. I had... hoped that you would look for me sooner.”

Did Near expect him to do everything himself? It annoyed him. “You could have found me, too.”

“I assumed you didn't want me to.” The reply was soft and Near still wouldn't meet his eyes for long.

Mello's laugh was bitter and he knew it. What, had Near expected him to be desperate for him, thought maybe he'd _want_ to be second-best again, meekly assuming a subordinate role? The idea made him angry and he kissed him because he was angry. Not because he had missed him; not because he remembered the boy who had comforted him all those years ago. Not because he remembered that this was the man whose name he cried out in bed if he wasn't careful, who he dreamed about. Always Near... or L. But L was dead and Near was alive and here, in his arms.

Near clung to him as though he were drowning and Mello was his only hope of safety. He buried a hand in Mello's hair, holding too tightly, although he didn't protest. When he broke the kiss, Near gave a soft, needy little whimper. It surprised him; he had never thought he would hear him sound so vulnerable or that _he_ would be the thing Near needed so much as to make such a noise at its loss.

“It's not like it was exactly easy to get to you,” Mello pointed out. “I couldn't just waltz in here anytime I wanted.” He wasn't sure why he was making excuses, making any effort at all to explain himself. Why should he care how Near felt? If he were lonely, it wasn't his fault or his responsibility to do something about it!

Near pressed himself against Mello's side, as close as he could get, head pillowed on his shoulder. “Yes, you could,” he answered, after a pause so long Mello had thought he wasn't going to say anything at all. “I would always have let you in.” Maybe it was even true, but what could he say to that? How had he been supposed to know that, anyway?

Near's hand was stroking the bare skin of his stomach, playing with the laces of his pants, and Mello squirmed uncomfortably at the way it was starting to make him feel. “Near,” he said, before it was too late, although he was already beginning to feel short of breath, “are you sure this is what you want?” Not that he couldn't take him unwillingly, wouldn't enjoy it in some ways, but here, it seemed safest to ask. To be the caring partner Near seemed to want him to be.

“Yes.” The word sounded desperate, almost broken, as did his laugh. “I've been waiting for you for _four years_ , Mello!”

 _Waiting_ for him? Did he really mean...? And then his thoughts slid sideways as Near kissed him, seemingly unwilling to wait any longer.

  
Mello was here, in his bed. Near could scarcely believe it. More, he had kissed him, asked him if this was what he wanted, treated him gently. Surely this had to be a dream; Mello never treated _him_ like that, but it felt so real! If it were a dream, he could do whatever he wanted; he wouldn't have to hide.

So he didn't. His usual self, who felt almost nothing, needed no one, was gone as if he had never been, dissolving like smoke before the wind. _This_ self, the one that was so very lonely and needed this more than he would have thought possible, was his only reality. He let his desperation show in his kiss, in the way he touched him, the eager way he tried to remove Mello's clothing as quickly as possible. “Near, slow down,” Mello said, and his voice was still gentle, still caring. “I'm not going to disappear or tell you to stop. You don't have to rush this much.”

Near gave no outward indication that he had heard, but he did try to slow down. This was real (it had to be real, he would never have dreamed Mello with these scars, in these clothes), this was happening _right now_ ; he should try and enjoy it. Why was it that things were always so uncertain with Mello, anyway, he wondered as he slowly licked and sucked his way down the scar that ran along the left side of his neck. He was so hard to hold onto, like trying to keep water in his cupped hands, and all he could get were tiny tastes of what he longed for, never enough to feel content. Maybe it was just part of the way that he refused to fit into the roles Near assigned him, insisted on being unpredictable, unique: the eternal outlier who never fit the pattern.

He went back to removing Mello's clothes and this time he didn't protest, even helped him, which Near had to admit was probably necessary. All that leather looked good, looked incredible, in all honesty, but was harder to remove than he had expected. Mello seemed completely unselfconscious about his nudity and he couldn't help but admire that. As emotional and fragile as Mello was, he was far more comfortable in his own skin, with his body and its needs, than Near would probably ever be.

He paused a moment to look, to appreciate, and to fix the sight in his memory, before turning to touching. Near traced Mello's scars with gentle fingers, frowning a little as he wondered exactly how they had happened, but not wanting to ask. He didn't want to risk making him angry, didn't want him changing his mind and leaving. Not yet. Not ever, if it were up to him, but he knew that was too much to hope for.

Near's pajamas were much easier to remove and he willingly allowed it, even if he felt shy. The embarrassment of having someone else looking at his naked body was far outweighed by the pleasure of Mello's hands on his skin, caressing and exploring even as he had done. Time had changed them both, at least outwardly, and probably inside as well, where no one could see. But nothing, he thought, could change the way he felt about Mello.

“You shouldn't hide yourself so much,” Mello said softly, stroking small circles across Near's stomach with his fingertips. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” His tongue followed the path his fingers had already traced, slowly, appreciatively.

Near blushed. Had he really just complimented him? Did Mello really just imply that he liked the way he looked? Not that his appearance mattered to him or that he ever bothered about it, but somehow he was pleased nonetheless. Funny how Mello was the exception to every rule. Including the one about how he hated exceptions, liked everything certain and predictable, everything in its place like a finished puzzle.

“Then again, you look awfully cute blushing like that, too. So I suppose there are positive aspects to you being so shy.” Mello's laugh was low and intimate and sent shivers up Near's spine. Mello seemed to be treating him like a lover, someone he truly cared for and wanted to be with. And maybe he did, four years absence notwithstanding. Whatever the reason, Near was grateful for it and found it gave him hope. Maybe he wouldn't have to be alone after all; maybe this one additional night wouldn't be all he'd have. He wasn't too proud to take whatever he could get, but he wouldn't lie to himself about what he really wanted, either. To others, yes, but not to himself.

  
It was far too easy to get caught up in this, to forget that what he felt for Near had nothing to do with love. It made Mello nervous and being nervous made him angry. Trust Near to somehow get under his skin and make him feel things for him he didn't want to feel. He _hated_ Near; he wasn't in love with him! Right? Dammit. He wasn't as sure as he should have been.

 _So just fuck him, get it out of your system, and get out of here_ , he thought to himself. He hoped it would be that simple. Mello leaned over to nibble on one of Near's ears, ran a hand up his inner thigh, stroked his erect cock with the lightest of touches and listened to him moan, trying to feel nothing but lust. Lust he could deal with; it was safe enough. Love had only ever gotten him hurt. Loving Near, especially, seemed likely only to end in disaster. He used people, played with them like they were one of his toys, and Mello had no intention of letting him do that with him. A brief mental image of an arrogant face, a voice dismissively calling him a boytoy, flashed into his mind before he shoved it away. He was no one's toy!

Of course, this was Near's show to begin with. Maybe it was time to change that. Mello stripped off one of his gloves with his teeth before rolling himself on top of him and pinning Near's hands above his head, both wrists held tightly in one hand, kissing him fiercely, possessively, all pretense at tenderness or gentleness abandoned. He bit his lower lip, his earlobe, his neck, raked sharp fingernails down his sides, watched and listened as he gasped and squirmed under him. Yes, better. That was more like it. Not that Near seemed to be seriously resisting, but it was enough to make him feel in control. Mello sucked a nipple that was only barely pink into his mouth, licking and sucking, biting just hard enough to hurt without being unbearable. He didn't want Near to tell him to stop or to call for help (didn't really want to hurt him, part of him insisted, although he tried to stifle it); he just wanted to push the limits a bit, see what he would allow.

He had to let his wrists go as he moved lower along Near's body, but he didn't worry about it. The restraint had been more for show than substance anyway. He indulged in a different kind of sadism now, licking the head of his erection slowly and teasingly, swirling his tongue in slow spirals as though he felt no urgency at all. He wanted to make him beg.

He did, of course, and it gave Mello a sense of triumph: a bright bloom of satisfaction, like one of the rare occasions when he had surpassed Near on schoolwork, like when he had held the Death Note in his hands. “Mello, please...” Near gasped. All that earned him was another kiss, deep and hungry, that left them both breathless.

“Please, what, Near?” His grin was wicked as he arched an eyebrow inquiringly, enjoying the sense of power over his rival. “What is it that you want me to do to you?”

  
Near flailed about mentally, groping for a response. He knew all the words he should say at this point, but none of them seemed right, or at least he couldn't say them. He had never said anything like it in his life and didn't know how to begin.

“If you don't tell me, I can't do it,” Mello said, still with that teasing, seductive smile that seemed to turn his brain to mush. He should be worried about that reaction: anything that interfered with his mental functioning was dangerous, but somehow Near couldn't bring himself to care. Fingers slowly, delicately stroking the length of his cock, barely touching it, hardly helped him think. Mello nibbled and licked at his earlobe, somehow still managing to give an impression of amusing himself while waiting for a response, a response Near had to somehow manage to give.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, tried to concentrate... only to lose it all and moan, helplessly thrusting into Mello's hand when he finally closed it around his aching erection, stroking hard once, twice, and then stopping.

“Well, Near?” Hot breath in his ear, a teasing lilt in that voice, the one he most wanted to hear, that reminded him of a cat playing with its prey. Mello was enjoying this and he might think about what that meant if he could think about _anything_ besides the hand that had moved to tickling his balls now, the mouth nibbling his sensitive neck. “I can tease you for a long, long time, if you don't tell me.”

“I want... you, Mello.” It was the hardest thing he'd ever said and he could feel himself blushing again. There was no reason to be embarrassed over such simple things: he was human and therefore inherently a sexual being, with the same hormonal drives as all the rest; yet he _was_ embarrassed, intensely so. Near made a mental note to try to work on it. No reason to ignore such a flaw now that he was aware of it.

He must have decided to take pity on him, to let that be enough of a response, because Mello laughed, low and seductive, almost a purr, but he stopped teasing him. Near could sense him moving, but he still didn't open his eyes. Not until he spoke again. “Then, do you have condoms, at least? Somehow, it wasn't something I thought I would need to bring with me.” Odd emotional shadings in his voice, amusement and something else Near couldn't quite name blended together to make something almost bitter, but not quite, like barely-sweetened chocolate.

“Ah, yes.” Near had always believed in being prepared for any eventuality (although he hadn't really been prepared, not for this, even though he had thought he was until he actually saw Mello and was confronted with a reality that somehow was nothing like his plans) and had made sure to have condoms and lubricant on hand, just in case. It had been awkward and embarrassing to ask Gevanni to buy them for him, but he had done it and now he was glad he had, even if at the time he had thought it likely to be more evidence of wishful thinking than anything he'd actually need.

Mello looked at the unopened packages, then back at Near, questions mingled with the arousal in his eyes. Near wondered which he would ask: the safe ones, or the more dangerous, riskier ones, the ones that he didn't really want to answer? Or none at all?

For now, he opted for one of the easy ones. “Have you done this before?” That, he didn't mind answering. It was safe enough.

“No.” _I never wanted to with anyone else_ , Near thought, but didn't say.

Safer, to keep secrets so close to his heart hidden, to not let Mello see exactly how much power he had over him. It was funny, really: Mello had always wanted to win, been willing to do anything to dominate him, but he didn't need to try so hard. If he only looked and really _saw_ for once, he would see the truth. He had won long ago; his victory was only incomplete because he refused to accept it, insisted on seeing himself as inferior.

“I'll go slow, then.” In the statement, in the actions that matched the words, he heard the ones Mello didn't say: _I don't want to hurt you_ , and it meant almost as much as if he had said them aloud. It was a side of Mello that he had never expected to see.

  
Mello looked at Near spread out before him, naked and vulnerable, begging for him, and thought this had to be a dream. All his usual cold logic was gone: he was heat and emotion and open need, reminding Mello more of himself than how he usually thought of Near. He'd never expected this to happen when he came here today; had never really expected it to happen at all. Now that it was, he was almost unsure what to do. He thought of Near as his _rival_ , not his _lover_ , and he was having serious trouble making the mental adjustment.

He was gentle, careful, and far more patient in preparing him than he really wanted to be. Part of him wanted to be rough, wanted to hurt him, to make him pay for all those years of being second best. But Near had so clearly given him his complete trust, foolishly, perhaps, and certainly unexpectedly, and he couldn't betray it. It was too rare and almost precious to him. No one trusted _him_ , not really; he was too unpredictable, too volatile for that. Normally, he considered that a strength. But now that someone _did_ trust him, even if it were the person he least expected to, he wanted to be worthy of it, even if it were only for just this short time.

Mello pushed slick fingers in deeper, curled them just so, and watched Near's flushed face, the way he arched into it, listened to him gasp his name. God, he was just so _vulnerable_ , so unprotected: all the walls with which he usually surrounded himself, all the barriers that kept him from feeling, were gone. Just for this moment, it would be _so easy_ to hurt him in so many ways. All he had to do was get up and walk out and never look back.

But he wouldn't do that. Mello wanted this, too, and he wasn't going to give up something he wanted just to hurt Near. That would be letting him win, too, even if he were hurt. As he positioned himself, pushed into him at last (hot and tight and _good_ , like anyone else and yet not, somehow still uniquely Near to him, even in this, even though he could never explain how it was different), Near wrapping his legs tightly around his waist, he felt – what _was_ that feeling? Desire, he told himself firmly. Only desire. He wouldn't let it be anything else.

  
Near looked into Mello's eyes, his face, and tried to read the expression there. Lust, certainly, and pleasure, too, but there was more than that. He wished he knew what it was, could name it, quantify it. This was why he tried not to feel anything; emotions interfered with his thinking, his objectivity, until the answers were hidden from him. Then Mello moved, and a shocking burst of expected yet still somehow surprising pleasure, like coming inside to warmth after being nearly frozen, like chocolate melting on the tongue, made his thoughts fly apart, any chance of thinking, analyzing, gone.

Instead, he was lost in experience, sensation: noticing things, _feeling_ things, with no time to think on them or ponder them. Mello's hands on his hips, one gloved and the other bare, holding tightly, leather and flesh feeling scarcely different but for the fingernails digging crimson crescents on one side. Disheveled blond hair over a flushed face, flushed but for the scar which stood out in glaring white contrast now, mouth open slightly, chest rising and falling rapidly as he panted. Soft, broken gasps, nearly a whimper – was that _him_ , making those? He was scarcely conscious of doing it, but he could hear Mello's low moans, too, with his name occasionally mixed in with the wordless sounds, barely breathed: _Near_. A growing tension and need deep inside of him, coils of inexorable heat radiating outwards, spiraling towards a breaking point, like everything that had led to this moment: a puzzle complete but for the final piece. His own orgasm, different and more intense than those he had occasionally given himself, although the name he cried was still the same, always the same.

Mello looked almost surprised, and he distantly wondered why, watching him until he came with a wordless, nearly wounded cry, nails biting deep enough to draw blood.

After, he held himself there, muscles in his arms quivering, before pulling himself back, out of and away from Near. Mello sat on the side of the bed, trembling and looking at the floor, just as Near had earlier, and seemed to try to catch his breath. Near wondered what he should say. He really had no idea what Mello was thinking at this moment or what the appropriate response would be. Should he touch him, or was he not ready for that? He weighed his options and eventually chose to take refuge in practicality, safe and familiar: grabbing tissues, cleaning himself off, then offering them to Mello wordlessly.

Mello gazed at them as though he had never seen them before, then visibly started and took one, wrapping the condom in it and throwing it in the trash before laying back down, curling around Near in a way that seemed an almost instinctual seeking of comfort. Why he should need comfort, Near wasn't sure, but he was willing enough to try and give it.

“Near,” Mello whispered, in a voice so soft he might almost think he had imagined it. Near waited, but he said nothing else, and it was easy to drift off like that, feeling safer and warmer than he could ever remember feeling.

  
When he woke, the room was dark, but he could hear Mello getting dressed, feel his absence in the bed. He was barely awake and he spoke without thinking. “Don't go.” He winced at the sound of his voice, so much colder than he felt, hated that he didn't think he could look at him. If he didn't watch him leave, maybe it wouldn't be real; maybe he'd wake up later and he'd still be there.

Silence, then, and sudden weight beside him. A hand stroked his hair far more gently than he would have expected. “I already told you I wasn't going to stay and work with you. This doesn't change my mind.”

Near couldn't think of anything to say but the bare truth, his own certainty in return for that he heard in Mello's voice. “I know.”

“Then why ask that?” The cry was frustrated, angry, yet he heard in it the truth: Mello cared for him. If he didn't, he wouldn't be frustrated that his pride wouldn't let him stay but he didn't want to go, didn't want to hurt Near. He wouldn't be using anger to try to hide from the knowledge that his leaving would hurt. He wouldn't still be here; wouldn't still be touching him.

“Just... stay a couple of days. I won't ask for more. Spend time with me. Let me have that, before we go back to being rivals.”

Mello's hand stilled. “You... why do you want that?” He shifted until he was sitting on the bed more fully, leaning against the wall, leather-clad legs and feet still bare stretched out in front of him. His hand went back to caressing Near almost absently, stroking his shoulder, his back, in long slow strokes. Near didn't normally like to be touched, but he allowed this, maybe even found it comforting, as he thought it was meant to be, although for which of them he couldn't say.

Mello sighed, but made no move to get up. “If I stay, everyone will know why. Doesn't that bother you?”

“No.” What more was there to say? He'd thought about it, weighed the pros and cons, and decided he would far rather Mello stay than preserve his reputation for being untouchable. The walls that were so much a part of him that he scarcely knew how to breathe without them had become a prison rather than a fortress. For just a few days, he wanted to live free, to love and be loved like anyone else.

Well, it was Mello he loved, so it wouldn't be like anyone else, could never be like anyone else. But then if it were easy, if he were more predictable, more ordinary, he would make no impression on Near, would just be another face in the background that he could scarcely distinguish. But Mello would never settle for that, insisted on being the one spot of bright color in a world of gray, making Near really _see_ him. He always had.

Near turned over, looked at him, and waited, scarcely daring to breathe. He expected refusal and disappointment, yet he hoped all the same. Mello's eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep, emotions moving across his features like the shadows of branches, still winter-bare yet lit by sun. At last he sighed again, looking exasperated. “All right, I'll try. But it won't be for long. And don't expect me to help you!”

“Agreed.” Near smiled and wrapped himself around him, enjoyed the warm sensation of having Mello hold him, knowing he cared about him. It was only temporary; he could feel the frost just waiting to come back, knew it would form on his skin, in his heart, as soon as Mello left. For now, though, he basked in the heat of his presence, felt his heart open and bloom like a flower too foolish to know that winter wasn't really over yet.  



End file.
